Dreams and Nightmares
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik wakes from a nightmare to discover that Bakura's sleep is far from peaceful, too. Fluffy thiefshipping oneshot. Happy birthday, FanGirl16!


Bakura shifted restlessly, forcing his eyes to stay shut. It was late, incredibly late at night, but still he hadn't slept despite hours of trying. His head was aching, his body exhausted, but his mind refused to shut down.

A large part of Bakura was relieved. At least when he was awake, the nightmares couldn't haunt him.

He shifted again, rolling over in the bed, and his eyes alighted on the warm body lying in the bed beside him. Blond hair drifted messily across the pillow, sticking up in random tufts, and Bakura inwardly chucked. He was almost tempted to take a photo to show Marik later, just for the younger man's priceless reaction.

A small sigh escaped Marik's lips. His expression looked slightly troubled, brown face creased, and Bakura briefly wondered exactly what night fears were troubling him this time. Marik would often wake screaming from his own nightmares, and Bakura comforted him as best he could. Then Marik would settle down to sleep again, and Bakura would remain awake, watching him until the dawn light started to spear into their apartment again.

And Marik wondered _why_ Bakura liked lying in late in the mornings.

Bakura's brow creased. Experimentally, he lifted one hand and touched one strand of blond hair that fell across Marik's closed eyes. He would never show it when his partner was awake, but Bakura was absolutely fascinated by Marik's appearance. Blond hair on an Egyptian – such a preposterous thought. Bakura remembered how his own white hair had been an exotic feature in Ancient Egypt, but he much preferred the sunshine yellow of Marik's hair. Coupled with the warmth of Marik's body, Bakura often felt like Marik had somehow encapsulated the desert within his appearance. It was a comfort to Bakura – a reminder of his homeland. Marik was a relic from his own forgotten past.

Marik shifted again, his brow creasing and his fingers knotting in the sheets. Bakura prepared himself. Sure enough, it only took a few moments longer for Marik to start awake, a shocked scream released from his lips as his body rocketed upright.

"Shh," Bakura murmured automatically. He sat up also, wrapping his arms tight around Marik and holding the younger man close, waiting for him to remember where he was. He listened to Marik's racing heart settle back into a normal rhythm, the ragged breaths in his chest slowly beginning to calm.

Eventually, Marik turned to bury his face in Bakura's chest. Warm arms wrapped around Bakura in return and Marik drew in a trembling breath, pressing his nose into Bakura's neck. "You're still here?"

That question surprised Bakura. He paused for a moment, eyes narrowing, before he scoffed, "Of course I'm still here, idiot."

Marik's trembling began to subside. He didn't let go of Bakura, pressing himself closer and tightening his grip. Bakura's nose wrinkled slightly. "You're being even more clingy than normal."

"Can't help it," Marik mumbled, his voice muffled by Bakura's chest.

Bakura arched a brow. "Why? Dream about that bastard father of yours again?"

Marik's hands fisted, his nails scratching Bakura's back as he clung tight to him.

Bakura snorted. "He's gone, Marik. He isn't going to come back ever, your dark half saw to that. You can stop being scared of him now."

"That's not what…" Marik choked slightly and he hid further into Bakura's shoulder.

"That's not what what?" Bakura questioned. His tone remained hard, though he did lift one hand to gently run it through Marik's sandy blond hair.

Marik relaxed a little more at that touch, though he continued to give the occasional tremor. He took several moments to answer Bakura's question, his voice little more than a hushed whisper in the still, night-time air. "…My father is not what I dream about anymore."

"He isn't?" Bakura blinked, his low voice pitching up just a little. "What are they about then? The tomb?"

Marik shook his head.

"Then what?" Bakura continued to press, giving Marik's warm body a little shake. "Your siblings? Losing to the Pharaoh?" His name twisted around that name like gravel before he continued. "Or the appearance of your darker half? Losing your body?"

"Thank you for reminding me of everything bad in my life," Marik scoffed softly.

Bakura shrugged, not phased in the slightest. "You have lots to nightmare about. Which one was it?"

"…Sort of the last one." Marik lifted his head and met Bakura's gaze, his violet eyes a little dimmer than normal.

Bakura tilted his head questioningly. "Losing your body? You know your darker half is locked up in the shadows forever now."

"So are you, supposedly," Marik pointed out.

Bakura snorted. "I _am_ the darkness; shadows can't contain me. It's entirely different."

Marik's head dipped slightly in what might have been a nod. He lifted one hand and just gently touched Bakura's cheek, his expression vulnerable. "…I lost my body and when I woke up, you were gone."

"Gone?" Bakura arched a brow. "Gone where?"

"Just … gone." Marik looked down and shifted, his hands trembling against Bakura's back. "The knife was in my hand, just like after my father … and there was so much blood, but I wasn't in the tomb, so it wasn't his…"

Bakura went still.

"And I looked around, and I realised I was here, in our bedroom," Marik continued, his voice turning tight. "And the blood was all over the sheets … and then, on your side, I could see white hair stained red, and you were so still…"

Bakura sat in the silence, his body tense with surprise. He blinked. It was _him_ that Marik had dreamed of losing? _He_ was the cause of the tears and fear currently decorating Marik's face?

Marik shifted again, and his face pressed back into Bakura's chest. He was trembling again.

"…Well, I'm still here," Bakura finally managed to scoff.

A low sound that might have been a chuckle rumbled from Marik's curled-up form. "I know that now, fool."

"So stop dreaming that I'm not," Bakura responded gruffly. "You think I'd have wasted all this time on you just to get myself killed? I've survived thousands of years. It takes an awful lot to kill me."

"I'm not exactly dreaming it on purpose," Marik mumbled.

Bakura scoffed again before a slow smirk tugged at his lips. "…Nice to know I'm in your head so much. And you'd be so distraught without me."

"Arrogant asshole." Marik nipped at Bakura's shoulder.

"Coming from _you_, that is rich." Bakura chuckled, enfolding his arms tightly around Marik again. He lay back down, bringing the younger man with him.

Marik shifted around a bit, grabbing at the covers and pulling them up around them again, cocooning them both in warmth. He nuzzled up to Bakura's chest, worming his way back into Bakura's arms with a low, contented sigh. "I'm not that arrogant, you know. At least, not without reason. I am the best."

Bakura snorted, cuffing Marik around the back of the head. "Just go back to sleep, asshole."

Marik nodded tiredly, a small grin lifting his lips. He nuzzled Bakura's shoulder, settling happily with a hum. "You can go back to sleep now, too. You fulfilled your requirement."

"Well, I'm relieved to have your permission, not that it will help," Bakura growled playfully.

"Hm?" Marik blinked, glancing up again through sleepy violet eyes. "What do you mean, 'not that it will help'?"

Bakura's brow creased a little. "Doesn't matter. Go back to sleep."

"…No." Marik frowned up at Bakura, laying one warm hand on his chest. "Tell me."

Bakura pursed his lips. He lifted one hand to touch Marik's hair again. "I wasn't asleep when you woke up. That's all."

"You weren't?" Marik's eyes narrowed. "At all?"

"I don't need much sleep," Bakura grunted.

Marik's frown only deepened and he looked up to properly meet Bakura's gaze. "You do need some, though."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

Marik paused a moment longer, his head tilting, before he shook his head. "No."

Much to Bakura's surprise, Marik rolled off him and reached out to scoop Bakura up, tugging him close against his chest. He lifted a hand and stroked through Bakura's long white hair, and the thief found himself relaxing. He frowned. "What are you doing?"

"You're going to sleep," Marik ordered. "Now."

"…It doesn't work like that," Bakura growled in response, though he didn't move from Marik's chest.

Marik shrugged. "Then you're going to lie here and rest until morning." His arms encircled Bakura's body, trapping him.

Bakura merely grunted. He shifted a little more, getting himself comfortable, before he allowed his eyes to close again. Amazingly, his lids did feel a little heavy. The sheets were warm around him, and Marik's scent was calming, once again reminding him of the sand of his homeland.

Perhaps they would both get restful sleep that night.


End file.
